


i'm not gonna complicate (just for the sake of the war in my mind)

by jleeg



Series: how do you operate (when you think you're supposed to be fine) [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: David Rose has OCD, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panic Attack, Scene Rewrite, communication is good!, episode: s04e04 Girl's Night, everybody's ocd presents differently!, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jleeg/pseuds/jleeg
Summary: His anxiety spikes when he walks through the door to find Patrick and Stevie leaning over the counter at the store. His defenses prickle and only heighten when they start arguing about lip balm and compromise. Maybe arguing is a strong word, but he can’t help but feel attacked once they gang up on him; it’s overwhelming when his attention is relentlessly being pulled toward the lip balm and mints and how incorrect they are. Still, his pride and his fear win out as he pushes himself out the door, declaring that he can compromise. He doesn’t stop thinking about the lip balm all day.formerly titled "signing up" but now everything is named after noah reid lyrics for the obvious reason of them being impeccable
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: how do you operate (when you think you're supposed to be fine) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829581
Comments: 27
Kudos: 207





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and I haven't published fanfic since middle school so... hopefully it's not too terrible? Love these boys to much to resist publishing. And I ran out of David character studies to read so I had to take matters into my own hands. I hope you enjoy!

David knows he has quirks and he knows that people mean no harm when they poke fun at them—mostly. He doesn’t mind, per say, when Patrick or Stevie or even Alexis tease him when he continuously adjusts products on their shelves or is particular about the placement of things in the store or refuses to discard any of his clothing. He lets them call him out for being pretentious when he won’t touch something because it’s dirty. He knows they all jab each other; it’s their primary form of communication, after all. But still, there’s that itch in his brain—that same itch that causes those quirks—that nags him. It says that it’s not a joke, that he’s nuisance, that they’re laughing at him and not with him. He pushes it down as much as he can; he resists the urges to seek reassurance or communicate his anxieties. They already put up with his other quirks and he’s afraid to see what would happen if he made their relationship with him more burdensome. He doesn’t want to screw up the good things he has going for him.

But sometimes the itches get worse. His anxiety spikes when he walks through the door to find Patrick and Stevie leaning over the counter at the store. His defenses prickle and only heighten when they start arguing about lip balm and compromise. Maybe arguing is a strong word, but he can’t help but feel attacked once they gang up on him; it’s overwhelming when his attention is relentlessly being pulled toward the lip balm and mints and how _incorrect_ they are. Still, his pride and his fear win out as he pushes himself out the door, declaring that he can compromise. He doesn’t stop thinking about the lip balm all day.

Throughout the day his inward focus is spread between different worries, from the feud over compromise itself to the store failing because of the arrangement of products. His fear for the store and his fear for his relationships conflict in his head, eating away until his nerves are fried at the end of the day. An outburst became inevitable, and he was on the verge of tears by the time Stevie leaves the store with an exclamation of “My work here is done”.

David feels the air in the room pressing down on him as he stands in place, staring at the ceiling and rapidly twisting the rings on his fingers. Patrick starts speaking but David can’t listen; he’s convinced this is the time that the other shoe will drop, ironic considering he just insulted Patrick’s literal shoes. His brain is in overdrive and he cuts Patrick off as he turns toward the counter with waving hands. His mouth begins spouting off words that he’s only half aware of while he begins rearranging the products that have been nagging him all day.

“I’m sorry, Patrick, for all of this, but my brain might as well be Wendy Williams with the way it just doesn’t _stop_ sometimes and I try to keep the collateral irritation to a minimum but it— I just can’t— the wiring isn’t right or maybe the universe just hates me because things just don’t work in there like they’re supposed to,” his hands stop their efforts at the counter to gesture wildly around as if they’re controlling themselves, “and I shouldn’t have dragged you into all _this_ but it just—” David breaks off into a poorly stifled sob as his hands slam down onto the counter, knocking over lip balm in the process.

His breathing is haggard, and tears spilled over his eyes at some point during his tirade; he’s grateful his back is facing Patrick. He feels himself slipping further and further away from his own body and he’s wishing his existence would just dissipate here and now. He’s vaguely aware of footfall behind him and Patrick’s voice saying his name pulls him back into himself, though it doesn’t lessen his panic.

“David, can I touch you? Can I touch your shoulder?” Patrick’s voice is too soft, too earnest to say no, so he gives a jerking nod. He feels a light touch fall on his left shoulder, applying a gentle pressure in an attempt to guide him. “Will you look at me, David?”

David slowly turns himself around, hands frantically wiping at the wetness on his face. He’s met with Patrick’s soft eyes and concerned expression. Patrick’s hands find a place at the junctures of David’s shoulders and neck as David’s eyes dart around, looking anywhere but Patrick’s face.

“Hey, David, hey.” Patrick’s voice comes out as little more than whisper, urging David to meet his eyes. “Take some deep breathes, you’re okay.” David’s hands flail around until they land on Patrick’s wrists, desperately grasping to feel grounded to the earth. He heaves in shaky breaths and Patrick’s fingers start applying more pressure to the taut muscles in his shoulders. “Why don’t we go sit down?”

Patrick leads David into the backroom and takes a seat on the couch. David hesitates; his instinct is to settle into Patrick’s side, but he still can’t shake the feeling that this is the last straw. He sits down against the other arm of couch instead, eyes squeezed shut and face turned toward the ceiling as he tries to grasp whatever composure he has left. Patrick shifts his body to be facing him, leaning forward ever so slightly and placing his hand on the couch between them, an offering.

“David… Clearly something is going on and I want to help you, but I’m feeling a little bit out of depth here. I—can you fill me in here? I didn’t think—I didn’t know that this was so serious to you. If the compromise is what this is about.” David’s hands move to cover his face, shaking his head and breath hitching. “David, please, help me understand what’s going on. I don’t like seeing you like this.” He gently wraps his hands around David’s wrists, pulling his hands away before holding them in the space between them. Patrick breathes out a gentle “Hey” when David’s glassy eyes meet his.

The tiny smile on Patrick’s lips makes David’s own wobble before his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip to stem the reaction. Eventually he takes sharp breath and his mouth tries to form words, but all he’s able to force out is a weak “I’m sorry.” Patrick opens his mouth to respond but David rapidly shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut once again and taking a deep breath.

He opens them after a few seconds, meeting Patrick’s worried gaze. His voice is still unsteady, but he manages to speak. “You deserve an explanation…” He speaks slowly, as if each word is carefully chosen but a struggle to get out. His eyes occasionally make contact with Patrick’s but mostly focus on their hands where fidgets with Patrick’s fingers.

“So… I think this whole dramatic display was some sort of panic attack, but, I, um. I think, well, everyone knows I’m not the easiest person to put up with and we’ve already _more_ than established that I am damaged goods. As it has been made abundantly clear today, I have… _issues_ with compromise and it’s not—well, everyone sort of gathers that I’m a mess of anxiety and maybe some depression but, uhm, I don’t tell people this anymore, and I’m not trying to make an _excuse_ but… I have, uhm OCD, and my brain just doesn’t _stop_ when it comes to some things and it’s just like this _nagging_ and it can be hard to… compromise, on those things, sometimes, and I know it can make me a nuisance, that you might not want to, like, deal with me or that—”

“David, David, slow down.” Patrick’s hands find the sides of David’s face with a reverent touch and it’s like his eyes draw David’s to meet them. Patrick’s are filled with softness and adoration while David’s are shining with fear and vulnerability. He draws David’s face in to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead, David making a soft sound in the back of his throat in response, before pulling back to look in his eyes once again.

“I have never, ever looked at you, or your brain, as a nuisance. If I had known I would have been more sensitive to it—”

“But you shouldn’t have to be! God, we haven’t even defined this yet and you’re already watching me have a breakdown and—oh my god, I called you my boyfriend for the first time in a panic induced monologue!” The pitch of David’s voice increased by a few octaves hands once again flying wildly as he shifted to get up from the couch. Before he could, Patrick grabbed him firmly be the shoulders and made sure he turned to look at him as he spoke.

“David, none of that matters. I am _choosing_ to be with you. I don’t care how you first called me your boyfriend because all that matters is that you _did_ because now I’m finally brave enough to say that you’re _my_ boyfriend _._ And I may be pretty new at this whole boyfriends thing, but I’m pretty sure that means signing up for everything. I want to be here for everything, including this. I’m signing up, David, _willingly._ ” When Patrick stopped talking, David’s lips were pursed, and he was blinking back tears. With a half-sob, he fell forward, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist, Patrick’s moving easily to wrap around his neck, one hand moving to David’s hair.

“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” David murmured into Patrick’s neck, and Patrick’s heart cracked a little bit.

“David, I don’t know how to tell you this, but… the people you’ve dated all seem like pricks.” He was rewarded with a tiny snort from David. Patrick pulls back to look at David’s face, but still keeping him close. “I’d really like to talk more about this, if that’d be okay with you. But Ray’s out of the house tonight… so maybe we could have that conversation back there?” David slowly nods and gives a tight but sincere smile.

“Yeah… yeah, let’s go.”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More communication because communication is great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barely proofread because I was too eager to post before my classes start tomorrow, whoops!

David and Patrick had left the store hand in hand after David cleaned up his appearance in the bathroom while Patrick straightened up the sales floor. He silently moved the plungers to the back of the store and rearranged the checkout counter; David noticed with tight lips but didn’t say a word about it. They left to grab dinner from the café, taking it back to Ray’s and eating in what felt like a fragile normalcy.

David feels more composed but still has a pit in his stomach and an itch in his brain by the time they settle on the couch. Patrick’s smile soothes his soul by a fraction, and he further melts when Patrick’s hand makes its way to his jaw and their lips connect in a sweet kiss. Patrick deepens it and _god_ does David want to fall into it and forget the day they’ve had—but his brain is much too busy to let go. Patrick must sense this, because he slowly pulls back and meets David’s eyes, eyebrows slightly raised. “I can practically hear you thinking, David.”

David lets out a whoosh of air, slouching back against the arm of the couch, eyes closed. Patrick’s hand falls from his neck to his lap, grasping his hand with an encouraging squeeze. David opens his eyes, and they dart around Patrick’s face, not quite meeting his eyes, as he grinds out, “So… you wanted to talk more, about… today?”

“I do, but I’m not going to force you to if you don’t want to—”

“No, no,” David shakes his head and waves a hand around, “I don’t necessarily like talking about these things, but you deserve answers, or whatever.”

Patrick takes a second to study David’s face, taking in his nervous eyes and the lip caught between his teeth. “Are you sure?” David just gives a jerky nod of his head. “Okay, I just wanna know more so I can try to understand and help make things easier, that’s why I want to talk. You know that, right?”

David’s eyebrows furrow and he chews on his lip. He _knows_ that. He _knows_ Patrick Brewer is a good, kind, _wonderful_ person and that is exactly the kind of intention he’d have. But part of David’s brain screams _no no no, you know that’s a lie._ Before Schitt’s Creek, anyone who had ever inquired about inner workings and wasn’t a therapist—though some of the therapists, too—were doing so with an ulterior motive. Whether it was to sell the details to Perez Hilton, or to use for a fucked-up kink, or have an excuse to dump him, or blackmail, it always ended up with his getting hurt. His instincts screamed for him to run, but he fought against them, repeating _Patrick is a good person_ like a mantra in his head. “I… uhm, yeah. I know. Can you maybe ask me what you want to know? This is just… ah, very overwhelming.”

“Sure, just—you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, okay? But, uh, let’s see. So… earlier, does that happen to you often? Panic attacks?”

“Well, uhm, not really? Not that badly, anyways… I sort of, like, spiral in my head a lot, but it usually stays inside. I didn’t really believe in this stuff a whole lot before coming here; I mean, it definitely happened back then, and I wasn’t like, _good_ , but that’s just the way things were. Everything was a mess and I was hardly lucid enough to recognize panic attacks. Or if I did, there wasn’t anyone I could really tell. It wasn’t until I got here that someone called it a panic attack and it was _Ted._ ” David does not feel like his words are coherent and he doesn’t know if this is what Patrick meant when he said he wanted to talk, but his eyes are so soft and his thumb is stroking David’s hand and David doesn’t feel the need to run away quite as much as he’d expect.

“So today… it was triggered by the stuff being rearranged?” David winces just a bit; Patrick probably thinks he’s overdramatic and high maintenance…just like most of his exes.

  
“Uhm, sort of? It wasn’t _just_ the stuff, but that _did_ stick in my head all day and I felt a little bit…ganged up on? Then I got stressed because I felt like such a nuisance or, like, drama queen or something so I really tried to, uh, _compromise_ , but it wasn’t just me being pretentious or picky, it was like I couldn’t think about anything else because it just felt _wrong_ and there was just too much happening in my head and I was overwhelmed and I panicked.” David’s words were starting to run together by the end and eyes had drifted to the ceiling at some point during his tirade. His hand had slipped out of Patrick’s so both could wave back and forth through the air as he spoke.

He forces his eyes to meet Patrick’s when he feels a hand squeeze his knee. He finds Patrick’s face soft and open and his eye contact is rewarded with his hand beginning to move up and down his thigh. “And… you said it’s OCD that made those things feel wrong?” David swallows around the lump in his throat and nods. Fear squeezes his chest; this is a part of himself he has outwardly denied for so long.

He fumbles with the sleeves of his sweater, eyes squeezing tight, and rocks forward as if he physically has to force himself to speak. “Yeah,” he draws the word out in a voice that is somehow both raspy and high-pitched, “It’s a compulsion, I guess. I mean, I guess you weren’t all that wrong about the whole, uh, compromise thing. A lot of… _it_ …is about control, apparently. Even when I was a kid, that’s what they said. Everything has always felt so out of my control and the times where I thought I was in control I just ended up having the rug fucking ripped out from under me—like when I got here and found out my entire professional career was a _sham_ because my parents couldn’t be _real_ parents but they could _lie_ to me and _pay for my buyers_ and—fuck. I don’t know.

“I’m just damaged and I’m always so fucking _afraid_ and so many of those fears are obsessions and they lead to the compulsions in an attempt to grasp for control. Like, I’m so afraid of the store failing or that I’m dead weight in this business so when things aren’t _right_ in the store it’s like my brain fucking short circuits or something because it thinks it has to be perfect or I’ll fail _again_ and this will all fall apart—” David was talking frantically by the time he abruptly stops, his face turning to Patrick’s with eyes comically wide as if his brain only just caught up to his mouth and realized what was being said.

Patrick’s eyes are glassy, and his face is as soft as ever, but David can’t stand to keep looking at it. He lurches forward, covering his face with his unsteady hands. He lets out a groan that dissolves into a self-deprecating laugh, “God, I don’t know where any of that came from. I’m such a mess, I’m so sorry you have to deal with this right now—I can go, if you want.” His voice sounds so small that all he can think about is how pathetic he must sound.

David feels a hand land softly on his back and making its way up and down the length of it. His muscles ease slightly, and he makes an attempt to even his breathing. “David, I’m only sorry that you’re struggling. I’m not sorry that you’re here. I signed up, remember? Come here, sit up for me.” David couldn’t deny Patrick when he sounded so earnest yet so tender. He slowly sits up and their eyes meet. Patrick’s hand stays on his back while the other moves to his face, gently wiping away the wetness; he gave a soft smile, “There he is.”

David’s lips twitch into a small, watery smile in turn. He fights the urge to fight back. He wants to fight for them, not for his insecurities whispering that he’s a burden, that he’s not enough, that this is all a lie. He wants to fight for Patrick and this new way of life.

“Thank you, Patrick,” he whispers before taking a moment and clearing his throat. His voice comes out a bit stronger but still so soft, so vulnerable, “I, uh—anytime I’ve ever acknowledged it outwardly and told someone the response is usually that it’s fake or an excuse and ends in a lot of ridicule. Especially from certain exes. Or, you know, people like to say they’re _so OCD_ and can relate and it’s just not… good, either way. Even some of the more questionable therapists I’ve seen had one of the above reactions, so I just stopped acknowledging it all together. Even internally to an extent, I guess… So, thank you, for not… doing… _that._ ”

Patrick’s eyes melt even further, and his hands move to frame David’s face. He’s earnest and a bit forceful when he says, “David, I would _never_ do any of that. I don’t _think_ any of that. I respect you _so much_ and everything you told me is just another part of you that I’m lucky enough to learn about.” David’s looks down and bites his lip, trying simultaneously to suppress a smile and blink back tears, and Patrick runs his hands from his face down his arms, eventually taking hold of his hands.

“How long have you known that you have OCD?” The question must’ve slipped out, because Patrick quickly adds, “Like I said, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.” David’s mouth quirks up in a weary smirk. He already spilled his guts before he even realized it was happening. What difference does one more question make?

“Uhm, when I was younger, I saw some _real_ therapists and psychiatrists before all the charlatans and I think I was in like middle school, or maybe younger, when one diagnosed the OCD. My parents weren’t around much but they were still desperately trying to figure out why I was… _odd_. But they weren’t, ah, the most… equipped to handle anything about their children, on a personal level, let alone that. They didn’t understand it. Their reactions were where the need for denial started, I think. They’ve gotten… better though, I guess.”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me all this, David,” he says while he gives his hands a squeeze, “I’m sorry all those things happened to you. You didn’t deserve any of it.” His voice is so unbearably soft and earnest that David’s eyes well up and he desperately tries to blink back tears yet again. Up until now, he was thinking of this all as a panic induced tirade that was completely accidental; he realizes now that he has been holding this all in for years and years and he must hold some degree of trust towards Patrick that spurred this emotional disburdening. The idea of trusting Patrick is both electrifying and terrifying and somehow feels right.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in a broken voice. Patrick gives him a soft smile as his thumb strokes the back of David’s hand. David inches closer to him on the sofa and as soon as his free hand moves to wrap around Patrick’s neck, Patrick pulls him in, wrapping both around his waist and planting his hands firmly on his back. David buries his face into Patrick’s neck where both his arms cling for dear life. The moment stretches out as they savor the contact, breaths evening out to fall into sync. Eventually, Patrick pulls back enough to see David’s face, remaining in a loose embrace.

“Does this mean I need to get rid to get rid of my mountaineering shoes?” Patrick says with a small joking grin, but David has a feeling that he actually would get rid of them if he asked him to; he bites back a smile, twisting his mouth into a smirk.

“Ah, as much as I’d love to say yes, that _may_ have been me being pretentious. They _are_ incorrect, but they’re not _incorrect_ ,” David says with his mouth contorted in a grimace and hands picking at Patrick's shirt. Patrick takes it in stride, rolling his eyes with his mouth slightly downturned in an amused grin that’s reserved for the more indulgent of David’s David-isms.

David seems to deflate a bit, casting his eyes toward his hands that move to settle in between them, twisting his rings as he often does when he needs to direct his frantic energy in a way that doesn’t seem like _too much._ “I guess I kind of blur the line between the dramatics and the OCD? I mean, I know I _am_ dramatic and a bit pretentious and too much and perhaps overly opinionated, but I think I’ve sort of… embraced it? It felt easier to inflate it over the years and have that be the reason people didn’t like me rather than something that is actually, uhm, a part of me—like a really _real_ part of me that I can’t fix…” David bites his lip, feeling majorly overexposed. He was going to take the lull in the conversation to end the intensity of the day but suddenly the words were spilling out because _fuck_ him and Patrick have barely been _him and Patrick_ for any time at all but cracking open like this for the first time in so long—or maybe ever, in this particular way—just feels _right,_ albeit terrifying.

David’s eyes drift upward when Patrick’s hand settles softly at his jawline, and the softness he finds in Patrick’s face just about melts his insides. “David, I—You’re not too much and I don’t think any part of you needs _fixed_. I mean, if there are ever things that I can help you work through then I’d be more than happy to help. But when something bothers you like today and you need me to just stop I _want_ you to tell me. Okay?”

David tucks his lips into his mouth and bites down to prevent them from wobbling as he blinks back the wetness in his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that day. He gives a slight nod before breathing out a shaky laugh that’s too sharp to be mistaken for true amusement and says, “God, you’re just so _good._ I don’t deserve it.”

Patrick crushes David to his chest again, kissing his temple then fiercely whispering in his ear, “You’ve always deserved it, David,” to which David let’s out a choking noise from the back of his throat. They’re both exhausted from the intensity of the day, and they fall asleep in each other arms right there on Ray’s couch. Things only sink in when they wake up in the middle of the night as _boyfriends,_ tangled together and feeling lighter.

Weeks later, when they’re gathered in the store for open mic night, David’s mother tells him that Patrick sees David for all that he is. Her observation hits him hard and he silently thinks that she doesn’t even know how right she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took forever because I had an idea for another work in this series and kept getting pulled away by my brain to work on that. Thank you so so so much for the feedback on the first part of this story, it truly meant the world to me. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, keep an eye out for the next work! In the meantime here are some stories I love with all my heart and greatly inspired me to write this series:
> 
> Terrified But the Truth is This by ryry__peaches (and literally every other fic they've written. so. good.) https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740894
> 
> a spark to light my flame by stillicide_snow (and the companion piece) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002269
> 
> Take My Hand (take my everything) by 2sdaynight (UGH so tender) https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435912
> 
> and basically everything in the mental health tag
> 
> Reminder that mental health and neurodiversity is complex and every individual is different!! The portrayal of David and his anxiety & OCD in this story is largely based on my own presentation, as well as what I've studied. The same goes for the portrayal of their relationship in this story, my neurodiversity and mental health has made relationships very hard and complicated for me at times and I think it's an important topic!! If anyone wants to chat about any of this or Schitt's Creek, hit me up!! So many exclamation points!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
